


The Thirteenth Floor

by lizwontcry



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizwontcry/pseuds/lizwontcry
Summary: Roman, who is rather unsteady himself, tries to think of the right thing to say."We've always had bad timing, haven't we?""We have..." Gerri admits."What if we were to suddenly have good timing? Just for... an hour. What would that look like?""I think that... would look like an exceptional moment," Gerri says softly.(In which I've been watching too much of the Good Wife)
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	The Thirteenth Floor

**Author's Note:**

> So there's been a drought of Roman/Gerri fics lately and I wanted to do my part to end that. This is inspired by: a prompt on Tumblr, and the fact that I watched the elevator scene with Will and Alicia on the Good Wife tonight and part of this is pure plagiarism based on that scene. Enjoy! And I love me some kudos/feedback/love. Thank you for reading.

"Roman? Are you paying attention? This is actually important to, you know, the company continuing to exist for the next couple of years."

"No, Frank. I'm not paying attention. It's Friday afternoon. Nobody wants to be here. But please do continue, we're all fucking riveted by your lilting, passionate, sexy voice."

Frank sighs. He continues the meeting to talk about whatever the fuck, but Roman can't concentrate, since, as usual, Gerri is sitting next to him.

It's unbearable, actually. 

Sitting next to Gerri practically all day, every day, in meetings, in their office, in the car, on the plane--wherever they go, they go together. It's easier that way, for the CEO and COO to travel with each other, especially since Gerri is basically Roman's business tutor. He is definitely making progress; he needs less and less instruction with each passing day. But that does not mean he needs Gerri less. No--it's the opposite. 

Like, take this boring as fuck meeting, for instance. Frank is droning on and on about facts and figures and how important it is that they drum up numbers in Parks since Cruises is, obviously, a complete fiasco at the moment. Roman knows he should pay attention to Frank, but... Gerri is not listening to Frank, either. She's doodling on a yellow note pad. Little swirls and lines, Roman notes with interest. Everything Gerri does is interesting to Roman. Like, her hair is in a bun today. Kind of a messy bun. She seems a little more disheveled than normal. With her glasses on and her obligatory matronly attire, she looks like the usual kindergarten teacher that Roman has come to know and love, but with the messy hair... it's just, like, hot. 

He scoots his chair a little closer to Gerri, and she looks up from her doodle and gives him a small smile, and he wonders how he ever got so completely fucked up from a woman that this tiny gesture makes his whole fucking day. Did she cast a spell on him or something? It sure feels that way sometimes. 

Their "thing" has more or less been put on hold for the time being, since they are both too busy to engage in anything other than gluing the pieces of Waystar Royco back together. However, there's all these unsaid conversations that linger between Roman and Gerri. He sees the way she looks at him when she thinks he's not paying attention--she feels it, too. It's not just the longing glances--Roman can't really explain it. There's this... heaviness to their interactions, like something is missing, but neither of them know what to do about it. So what the fuck? Is he just always going to have a massive case of blue balls whenever they're in the same room together now? Because he's certainly not getting over this crap any time soon.

For just a second, Roman can't take it any longer and he touches Gerri's hand, the one that is doodling a straight line across the yellow note pad. Gerri stops her drawing and looks at him in surprise. Their eyes meet, and they acknowledge something. Something to be determined, but it's definitely... something. 

Roman doesn't take his hand away immediately. Nobody else in the room is looking at them, anyway. They're checking their email or writing notes; some are actually even paying attention to Frank. So he runs his pinkie across the soft skin of Gerri's hand, and she allows it, as though she wants it, or even willed it to happen. He stops touching her when he notices, with extreme pleasure, that she has goosebumps on her arm. And then he starts to wonder, if just touching her hand produces goosebumps, what would happen if...

"So that's what we need to work on next week. I'm serious, people--this is a priority. Now get the hell out of here," Frank says, and nobody has to be told twice--everyone scatters out of the room and Frank is not far behind. 

Gerri and Roman linger after the room empties. She puts the notepad and her laptop in her briefcase. Roman shoves all his stuff into the backpack he's been carrying around lately out of necessity. Maybe he should get something a bit more professional, but, like, who has the fucking time?

"So where are you headed?" Roman asks her as they leave the conference room. 

"Are you kidding? Back to my office. There's still so much left to do."

"Ah, come on, Ger. It's Friday. Let's go have a drink."

"Roman, really--"

" _One_ drink won't kill you. Across the street. It's happy hour; we can make fun of all the coked out Wall Street fucknuts."

Gerri exhales, and then nods hestitantly. 

"I suppose one drink won't hurt, but then I have to get back here, and let me remind you, Roman, so do you."

This is unfortunately true. The role of COO never fucking stops, even on a Friday night. He can't help but think of what he'd usually do on a Friday night in the past; it always had something to do with tall blondes, snorting things, and passing out in some East Side shithole and waking up feeling like he'd been run over by a 747. Oh, the days of yore.

At the bar, a shitty dive that thankfully is bereft of the Wall Street fucknuts, they have more than one drink. They have three or four or seven or something--they lose count. Roman knows he's a bad influence on Gerri but he can't help it. He loves to see her let her hair down, which she literally does after her third shot of tequila that he encourages her to order. He watches lustfully as she takes it down and shakes it out, letting the soft blonde waves settle over her shoulders. 

"Dammit, Rome, why do I let you get me into these situations?" Gerri slurs after she slams the shot glass down on the table. "You are bad."

"Yeah. But you like it when I'm bad."

Gerri laughs, and doesn't deny it. 

"Come on, let's get back to the office. I have all those briefs I need to finish by Monday."

"I have some briefs you can finish," Roman blurts out.

"Uh-huh. Well... that's something we can discuss later--"

"Gerri Kellman! What's a girl like you doing in a bar like this?" Some asshole who looks like he lives inside a plastic surgery appointment sidles up to the table and interrupts this very important thought that Roman desperately wants to follow up on--typical.

"Oh, hello, Will. Will, this is Roman--"

"Roman Roy, of course! The new COO of his dad's company. Congrats, by the way."

"Gee, fucking thank you, Will. Lovely to meet you and your fake fucking lips," Roman says. He does not like Will, or his weirdly constructed face.

"What was that?" Will asks, clearly confused. 

"Oh, Roman was just complimenting your... shoes," Gerri says, trying to keep herself together. "Please excuse us, Will. We have to get back to the office."

"Of course. Why don't you call me later, Gerri? We never finished discussing that trip to the Vineyard we were planning..."

Gerri just chuckles and nods, and pushes Roman out of the bar. They walk back to the office, arm in arm, so they don't tip over and die in the remnants of rush hour Manhattan traffic.

"Who was that douchebag? You were going on a fucking trip with him? He looks like a Ken doll that was left in the washing machine for 60 years."

Gerri laughs. Roman loves to make her laugh.

"Just someone I went on a date with once. Why? You jealous?"

"Of course I'm fucking jealous, Gerri. Like, haven't you figured that out yet?"

They're back in the lobby of the Waystar Royco building. It's nearly 8:00 PM and it's almost empty. 

"Roman..." He can see that she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. She looks kind of wobbly, actually. "We should--but we never have time..."

Roman, who is rather unsteady himself, tries to think of the right thing to say.

"We've always had bad timing, haven't we?"

"We have..." Gerri admits.

"What if we were to suddenly have good timing? Just for... an hour. What would that look like?"

"I think that... would look like an exceptional moment," Gerri says softly. 

Roman can't help it--he grins. He grabs her arm and they walk unsteadily to the elevator. While they wait for it to open, they share all kinds of longing, drunken, and weird sexual looks. Roman wonders if everything that has occurred in the last couple of months--going to management training at Gerri's suggestion, their odd phone sex arrangement, the way she so easily gets him off by the sound of her voice, even being taken as a hostage--has all led up to this moment. If so, it was all fucking worth it.

When the elevator arrives, an eight-year-old kid and his mother, who looks to be at about her wit's end with him and his entire existence, step off it. 

"Kevin! What have I told you about not pressing all the buttons?"

"Sorry, Mom," the little boy says, sounding not sorry at all. 

Roman doesn't advocate child abuse, obviously, but like, he just really wants to slap this kid.

Indeed, when Gerri and Roman get on the elevator, it looks like every fucking button has been pushed. And they're going to the 49th floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Roman mutters, shaking his head. All he wants to do is get Gerri alone in his office and see what she's wearing underneath that prim and proper white blouse she has on, but fate does not seem to have the same plan.

Instead of maybe getting off on the next floor or something that would make more sense than waiting as the door opened on every level, Gerri moves closer to Roman. Their backs are against the wall of the elevator and they are standing almost _too_ close together now. Roman can smell the sweet scent of her perfume that he has come to know as Gerri's signature. The tension is absolutely fucking ridiculous at this point.

On floor three, Roman touches her hand with his pinkie again. On floor five, Gerri grabs _his_ hand, and holds it until floor seven. On floor eight, Roman turns to regard her closely. She's looking at him like she's ready to make a drunken mistake. The doors continue to open and close, with no one there to get on or off--not that they'd even notice if an entire fifth grade class and/or a mariachi band joined them in the elevator. They continue to stare at each other, weighing the pros and cons of just fucking going for it, until floor thirteen. That's when Roman says, "fuck it," and he leans in to kiss her. He just fucking kisses her. He grabs her and kisses her fiercely, and sort of to his surprise, she kisses him back just as fiercely. On floor 22, there's even tongue involved. A lot of tongue.

The doors are still opening and closing and they aren't even paying attention. By floor 28, his hands are roaming freely, and she's moaning a little. By floor 31, Gerri bites Roman's lip and now _he's_ the one moaning. Roman has never even enjoyed kissing all that much--like what's the fucking point? But this singular experience is giving him a brand new appreciation for it.

Or maybe it's because Gerri is the one he's kissing.

By floor 40, the kissing has tapered off a little, so they can stare deep into each other's eyes. However, on floor 44, the kissing resumes. Roman wraps his hand around Gerri's neck and brings her closer to him, and she puts a warm hand under his coat, and then under his shirt, on his back. If he wasn't hard before, now he could launch a fucking space shuttle from his pants.

Finally, on floor 49, the door opens for the last time. They are still holding on to each other for dear life, expecting to haul ass directly to Roman's office, where his newly purchased sleeper sofa is waiting for the next act of this satisfying play they're trying to direct. However...

"What the fuck is this?" The last person on fucking Planet Earth that Roman expects to see is standing there staring at them. Logan. His dad. "Romulus? Gerri fucking Kellman? Well, don't just stand there looking like deaf fucking mutes. Explain yourselves!" 

And they are stunned speechless... but at least now they're able to stop kissing.


End file.
